


date night

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Diners, Explicit Language, F/M, First Dates, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, There's no plot, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-23 13:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: Daryl and Carol go on their first date. Things tonotgo as planned.





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter was written as a prompt response on tumblr, which is why it's so short. But it got a little... out of hand and I figured that ending it where it does would be a bit cruel. So, expect some gratuitous smut with no plot and no point just because.

He tastes like hot sauce and iced tea, faintly of cigarettes. _Forbidden._ His hands fumble a little where he hovers them over her waist and thigh, finger inching a little under her skirt, ghosting over the sliver of skin exposed where her shirt rode up. It's a little more than she thought she'd be ready for but he feels so damn _good_ like this. Warm against her while the cool leather of the bench kisses her bare legs.

 

Her tongue traces the seam of his lips and he groans deep in his chest. The vibrations of it hum against her hand where she splayed it over his heart. She can feel each beat, her stomach fluttering when his heart rate picks up speed.

 

This is probably too much too fast. Ten minutes ago, they were eating their burgers and fries and trying to maintain a conversation that didn't make them cringe. Now, she's sitting in the booth beside him, one leg curled around his, a hand curled around his neck – his hair feels silky soft where it tickles her skin – and his tongue is deep in her mouth. It's better than talking and lots better than cheap burgers, Carol thinks.

 

Her lips curl into a smile against his and he nearly pulls back. But she clings to him, humming in the back of her throat when his hand clutches the small of her back to pull her a little closer to him. The booth is cramped, the edge of the table digging into her ribs but she doesn't care. Usually, she'd be mortified. Making out with someone she's only on a first date with in a diner where everyone could see them. Only, the place was pretty much empty when they arrived and she'd dragged Daryl to the very back corner – sheltered from view.

 

Not that she had _this_ in mind. All she wanted was some privacy.

 

Their kiss had started shy, a little clumsy. But it's eager now in a way she's not used to. She feels like crawling under his skin, a little drunk on the smell and taste of him, the feel of him against her – solid and warm.

 

Feeling bold, Carol runs her fingers down his scalp, ever so slightly scraping her nails against his warm skin. He shudders against her, grunting into the kiss and pulling her even closer against him. The hand on her thigh finds more purpose, grasping the tender skin there and hitching it higher up against him. Her loose skirt offers little resistance and she can feel him hard against her thigh a second later, straining against the denim of his jeans.

 

The friction of her leg against him makes him tense. Maybe he's starting to come to his senses but she doesn't want him to just yet. Nobody's back here, and nobody can see under the table anyway. She moans quietly into the kiss, tugs a little at his hair to distract him.

 

It's been so long since she wanted someone. Even longer since she felt like someone wanted _her_ , and this feels so good. Smoothing her palm over his chest she slips her hand under his vest, rests it at his side where his rib cage expands with each quick, shallow breath.

 

His own hand rests against the inside of her thigh, not moving but radiating so much heat that she has to stop herself from wriggling against him to get him to move. To touch her.

 

Her mind is clouded, her skin feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending in her body humming with electricity. The only thing on her mind is more, more, _more_. More of his skin against hers because just his neck against her palm isn't enough. More of his lips on her – her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, everywhere. More of _him_.

 

“Carol-” he groans when she hitches her leg up higher, well on her way to crawling into his lap by now. Her name is muffled by her own eager lips and Daryl only makes a weak attempt of stopping her, sliding his tongue back into her mouth and grasping at her waist.

 

It's not until she allows her hand to roam down his front – feeling the muscles of his stomach and abdomen contracting under her touch – that he does pull away. Panting, he looks at her with dark blue eyes and parted, swollen lips. His cheeks are flushed beneath his stubble, his hair a mess on top of his head from where she ran her hands through it.  


Her hand hovers over his belt buckle, feeling the cool leather against her palm. Mesmerized, she watched his Adam's apple rise as he swallows, and then her eyes meet his. Linger, even as his own flicker between hers and her lips before looking down between them.

 

There's a question lingering in the air between them that fills the silence with static and their ragged, panting breaths.

 

A question she needs an answer to before she bursts into flames right here on the cheap, worn leather seat of this diner.

 

“Daryl?” she breathes, barely recognizing the husky sound of her own voice. It seems to take him off guard just the same, his hips bucking up a little, almost involuntarily.

 

“Fuck.” The short word spilling from his mouth sends a shudder through her body – and he must be able to feel it now with how close they are. Her breasts pressed against his chest, leg hitched against his groin. “Carol, I- We-” His lips are crashing into hers a second later, knocking the air from her lungs.

 

It's all the answer she needs.

 


	2. part two

If they were eager before then Carol doesn't know what to call _this_.

 

His hand - calloused and warm - is sliding up the inside of her thigh, the muscles of her lower belly quivering in anticipation. Her own hand curls into the fabric of his shirt, bunches it up in her fist until her nails dig into the firmness of his abdomen just above the line of his belt.

 

He grunts in response, bucking weakly into her touch and she wants nothing more than to unbuckle his belt and slide her hand into his pants, feel the warm weight of him in her palm, stroke him until those grunts turn into something else. Something more.

 

Wanting this so much is overwhelming and new and Carol can feel the bright red flush that spreads from her cheeks down to her chest. He can't see it, his body pressed against hers, but he can _feel_ the heat of her elsewhere.

 

His fingertips brush feather lightly against her underwear, nothing more than a flutter but Carol can barely hold back the moan that tears from her throat as the jolt of electricity shoots through her veins.

 

Daryl's eager lips and tongue muffle the sound. He freezes his hand, parts the kiss. Mewling, Carol chases his lips but the hand on her waist stills her. “Quiet,” he breathes, and then his hand cups her through her underwear without any more ceremony.

 

For a few seconds, he just rests it there. Warm pressure that makes her squirm for some friction she craves so much. Her forehead drops down to his shoulder and she chokes back a cry. Whatever intentions she had to touch him evaporate, her mind and body focused on nothing but the feeling of his hand against her core.

 

“Daryl,” she pants, close to begging for him to move, to do something. Maybe he's afraid, maybe he realized that they allowed this to get completely out of hand.

 

“Please,” she breathes, all the while convinced he's going to pull away in a second. He doesn't seem like the type for even the slightest bit of public display of affection and this, well... This could land them in jail for the night if they don't come to their senses soon.

 

All night, he'd been so shy. Reserved. Insecure. All masked well under a scruffy beard and rough leather, a deep southern drawl and gravelly voice.

 

This isn't _him_ any more than it is _her_. And while it doesn't feel wrong, Carol is certain he won't move this any further.

 

He surprises her.

 

With a shuddering breath he leans down and buries his face in the crook of her neck. His finger presses against her, curious at first. Finding the right spot and pushing against her entrance, the cotton of her underwear damp enough to reassure him that she wants this.

 

Her breath hitches and she claws at his arm now, holding on as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to her pulse point. Craning her neck to give him more access, Carol keeps her eyes shut. It's too much, the way he's pressing the pad of his finger against her. Over and over, teasing her. Without the barrier of her underwear he would just slip right into her, no resistance at all. This way, it's no more than an imitation of what she really wants.

 

“God,” she breathes, digging her nails into his bare arms. He doesn't say anything, just presses his lips to the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

 

To anyone catching a glimpse of them from afar, it probably looks like an innocent embrace. Still, Carol is grateful that they are sheltered from curious eyes. The threat of being caught remains, though. It sends adrenaline through her veins, makes her even more restless.

 

She nearly jolts off the seat when Daryl moves his thumb to where she needs him the most, circling her with a firm pressure that would probably be too much if she wasn't so worked up already. Her core throbs, aching, and she arching into his touch.

 

Her leg presses against his hard length, reminding her that she'd abandoned her mission earlier. Her stomach flutters a little nervously when she smooths her palm down his arm and she's just about to reach between them to cup him through his jeans when Daryl slips a finger under the fabric of her underwear.

 

There's no hiding the gasp when his finger slips through her wetness, feathering over delicate skin and she feels tears prickling in her eyes from the restraint of keeping still.

 

“Can I?” Daryl whispers, the warmth of his breath against her neck almost too much. It feels like she's suffocating, a fine sheen of sweat covering her skin and she wants to curse him for being sweet enough to ask permission _now_.

 

“Yes,” she breathes, clutching his arm. “Yes. Plea- _Oh!_ ”

 

His thumb moves against her again, quick but firm flicks through the barrier of her underwear. His other finger just presses against her, teasing. Not pushing in and she writhes against him, not caring that her leg rubs against him just right and his hips thrust forward each time.

 

They need to stop. Should have stopped minutes ago but the mere thought of pulling away from him now hurts. Not now, not when the white hot coil of tension in her lower belly is ready to snap, not when she can feel her rigid limbs tingling and her heart racing. Not when Daryl is panting against her neck, muttering curses against her flushed skin.

 

Not now, not-

 

Without warning, he slides two of his fingers inside of her, an easy and slick glide and it sends her crashing over the edge so unexpectedly that she doesn't know what to do. Her spine arches into him, stars glimmering in front of her eyes. As her muscles contract around him she bites her lip to keep quiet, the iron taste of blood going unnoticed at that moment. Her nails dig into his arms and the sound that escapes her despite her efforts is a mewl more than anything else.

 

Daryl breathes raggedly against her ear, his fingers still buried inside of her as far as this angle will allow. He never even moved them, and when he does - slowly withdrawing them - it only prolongs the rush she feels. Her muscles clamp around him, making it harder for him to pull out then it was to push in.

 

The last few shudders wreck her body when she pulls back. Enough to look up at him, but not enough to separate entirely.

 

Their gazes meet, and Carol wonders if the lust she sees in his eyes is reflected in her own. It must be, she thinks, feeling the last few flutters of her muscles around his fingers inside of her before he pulls them out.

 

She sighs at the loss, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opens them again, he looks at her almost shyly. It's ridiculous after _this_ but it's endearing, and she leans in to press a kiss to his lips.

 

It was meant as a quick kiss. To prolong the moment, to distract her from the onslaught of thoughts and worries that will inevitably makes this awkward.

 

But once his lips slide against her own, languid and wanting, she can't find the will to stop. All it does is stoke the flames inside of her once more, and she moans into the kiss against her better judgment.

 

He must feel it. The hardened peaks of her breasts pressing against his chest, the wetness between her legs where his hand still lingers.

 

She feels oddly empty now, her skin almost itching for his touch. With a breathy whimper she parts the kiss, keeps her eyes locked with his.

 

He looks nervous.

 

She feels nervous, too. This is reckless, new. Exciting.

 

But when she finally slides her hand down his front and cups the length of him through his jeans, all thoughts of fear and doubt are carried away with the sound of his groan.

 

“Can we-” she breathes, feeling the thick warmth of him beneath her palm. The tug deep in her abdomen makes her whimper.

 

He swallows deftly, the hand around her waist clutching her almost to the point of pain.

 

“Do ya want-”

 

She squeezes him before he can even finish the questions, stroking him slowly, just once before pressing her hand to his thigh.

 

Her throat feels dry, scratchy. Her heart pounds with nerves and the aftermath of her release, her body tense and limp at the same time.

 

She gives him the slightest nod, feels his hips thrusting upwards in response. Leaning forward, she presses her lips to the sharp line of his jaw, whispering her next words. “Let's get out of here.”

 

 


	3. part three

Daryl all but throws the money onto their table, their plates and glasses still half full. It's almost twice as much as they actually need to pay but he either doesn't realize or doesn't care.

 

Usually, she'd try to protest, insist she can pay for her own food. But right now, all she wants is to get out of here as quickly as possible and she doesn't care who pays for this.

 

As they make their way to the front of the diner, Carol finds her hand wrapped around his. Trembling fingers entwine, tugging a little restlessly here and there as they hurry past the handful of other customer.

 

Given the flush on their faces, Carol feels like they might as well have neon signs on their foreheads, and she looks down at the linoleum floor instead of meeting anyone's eye.

 

The little bell above the door rings when Daryl pulls it open, the mild breeze outside tickling her bare legs almost instantly. It's dark by now, the only source of light the half moon and the milky streetlights.

 

As they make their way down the three steps that lead out of the diner, their sides press together on the narrow staircase. It makes the blood in her veins sing, and hit by a sudden bolt of bravery she begins to brush her thumb against Daryl's wrist. His pulse thrums beneath her touch, maddening and mesmerizing.

 

He nearly stumbles down the last step, his grip on her hand tightening. When he looks at her with dark eyes, she feels the corner of her lips curve into a small smirk.

 

He'd parked his truck in the small lot behind the diner, and that's where he's all but dragging her now. The concrete has soaked up the day's heat, seeping through the thin soles of her sandals now with each hurried step.

 

They barely make it around the side of the diner before Daryl stops. It's a dark, unlit alleyway, the kind she wouldn't want to be stuck in on her own at any time of day. She nearly crashes into him, her free hand pressing between his shoulder blades to steady herself.

 

For a second, she marvels at the feel of his wings beneath her palm, worn and rough. But then she gasps when he spins around, stepping towards her and crashing his lips to hers.

 

It's like he's just as drunk on her as she is on him. His lips are ruthless, demanding, his tongue easily coaxing out her own.

 

Moaning into the rough kiss, Carol takes a step backward. Daryl follows her lead, taking long strides until her back hits the wall of the diner with such force that she gasps into the kiss.

 

The sound seems to pull Daryl out of his revelry for a second. He pulls back, hands pressed to the wall on either side of her stomach.

 

“Did I hurt ya?” he asks, his already gravelly voice even deeper. The sound of it makes her tremble against him.

 

She shakes her head, sucking in a deep and much-needed breath before framing his face in her palms and pulling him back down. He doesn't hesitate, groaning when her teeth scrape his bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth.

 

His hands finally move then, wrapping around her waist and pulling her body against his own. She can feel him pressing against her lower belly, hips stuttering against her for some friction. Instinctively, she responds, tilting her hips up against him. Moving her hand to his neck, she grasps his hair, runs her nails down his scalp until the small stutters of his hips turn into actual thrusts that jolt her body against the rough wall.

 

He pulls away from the kiss but before she has the chance to protest he buries his face in the crook of her neck. Sucking the tender skin into his mouth, he draws a moan from her throat that sounds vaguely like his name.

 

" _Oh God_ ," she gasps, painfully reminded of the dampness of her own arousal. It doesn't help when Daryl slides his hands up her quivering stomach, palming the weight of her breasts through her blouse. She curses herself for wearing a bra today, craves to feel him without all these barriers. Still, her nipples strain against the cotton and he drags his thumbs over them, squeezing, driving her mad while he leaves a trail of wet kisses down her neck all the way to her collarbone.

 

The friction of him thrusting against her abdomen is teasing, setting her blood on fire. But it's not nearly enough and she feels herself throbbing, lifting a leg to curl around his hip.

 

"Fuck!" Daryl grunts when the simple move pushes him right where he needs to be, the length of him snug against her warm core. Her own response isn't much better, a throaty sound as she throws her head back.

 

He has stopped moving, though and that's not at all what she wanted. One of her hands tugs at his hair, urging him to press his lips to the swells of her breasts just above the line of her blouse while the other finds his lower back and pulls him against her.

 

It's all the prompting he needs.

 

His thrusts against her are quick and hard, raising her onto the tips of her toes and she has no other choice but to grasp his shoulders for leverage. It's dizzying to imagine how he would feel inside her, stretching and filling her.

 

It would be so easy to reach between them and unbuckle his belt, push his jeans down just enough to free him, pull her soaked underwear to the side and let him sink into her. Her muscles contract just at the thought and she bites her lip to keep quiet.

 

As his face nuzzles into the valley between her breasts, Daryl's hands slide down over her sides, pressing into the curve of her hips before finding her thighs. She yelps when he suddenly lifts her up, her legs curling around his hips and squeezing him tight.

 

"Daryl- oh God, I-" The incoherent words tumble from her lips as she cradles the back of his head. His lips curl around her left nipple through the thin fabric of her blouse and bra, warm and damp. Sucking, dragging his teeth against the sensitive peak and her hips jolt forwards in response.

 

This isn't enough. Her clothes stick to her body like a second skin except for the skirt that's bunched around her waist. Even as a rational part of her mind tells her to stop, a different and more dominant part sends her hand down between their bodies.

 

He's still thrusting against her, his ragged breath damp against her breasts. When her hand presses against his abdomen, he freezes. Her fingers edge just barely beneath the waistband of his jeans, the lack of space making it impossible for her to reach much further.

 

"Not here," he chokes, pulling back to look at her. She nods, knowing that this dark alley doesn't actually offer as much privacy as it alludes to. But she's not quite ready to pull away and so she leans down to press a kiss to his throat, nuzzling her nose against the hollow between his collarbones.

 

His hips start moving again at her touch, his fingers digging into her thighs and pulling her against him with each thrust. It feels perfect, white heat gathering in a tight coil deep in her core again and she knows she's almost there, grinding frantically against him.

 

"Carol," he grunts as she presses her forehead to his shoulder, meeting his eager thrusts each time, feeling the length of him against her sensitive skin. "We gotta stop," he pleads, but the increased speed of his thrusts contradicts his words. "'m gonna-"

 

"Don't stop!" Carol gasps, feeling the tension inside of her reach a breaking point, the heat beginning to spread through her body. If he stops now, she'll cry, she'll go up on flames.

 

" _Fuck._ " He pulls away from her so suddenly that they both sway a little. Carol groans in frustration, feeling the first flutters of her release fading.

 

But then he grasps her hips again, pulls her forward. Sliding a thigh between her legs and swallowing her sounds, he presses into her.

 

She grinds against him with no shame left, desperate and eager. Her body catches up quickly and she crashes over the edge with his hand palming her breast and his tongue chasing hers. Her shoulders press painfully into the wall as her back arches towards Daryl, and the hand on her hips guides her through her release, pressing her against him over and over before the final shudders wreck her body and she parts from the kiss with a deep sigh.

 

She's limp against him, her entire body feeling like wax. She rests most of her weight against his thigh, her arms clutching weakly at his strong upper arms.

 

Now that they are alone, the aftermath feels different. Heavier. Daryl is panting softly against her breast, his hand pressed to her thigh - fingers drawing delicate circles there that make her stomach flutter.

 

The desperate need she'd felt before has simmered down now that the last flutters of her release flood through her, but Daryl is still hard against her pelvis. No longer thrusting but pressing into her a little with each breath. He keeps his face pressed against her breasts - almost as if he's hiding from her.

 

She still wants this - _him_. But suddenly, she doesn't feel as brave anymore.

 

"Your place is closer," she breathes, still trying to actually catch her breath. Her hand cradles the back of his head, fingers sifting through his soft hair.

 

He pulls back then, a hint of surprise etches onto his face as if he expected her to push him away now. She probably should, but she doesn't want to. Instead, she says those words with a nervous flutter in her stomach - remembering that he'd mentioned he lives at the edge of town.

 

"My brother's home," he replies with a low voice that's thick with frustration, his breath kissing her parted, damp lips and it's like a magnetic pull that draws her in. She kisses him softly, slow and languid. A deep kiss that makes her hum and her hands curl tighter around his arms.

 

He lowers her back to the ground slowly, hands firm at her waist.

 

"My place then," she whispers into the kiss, moving away to press her lips to his jaw, following the sharp line all the way to his ear.

 

"Ya sure?" His voice breaks when she sucks at the skin below his ear, his neck craning to give her more room. Carol ponders his question for a moment as her hand ghosts over his belt buckle. _Is_ she sure? She doesn't know.

 

She just knows she's glad she shaved her legs earlier, glad that Sophia is having a sleepover at the Grimes' house. Glad for her elderly neighbors who are almost deaf.

 

He is giving her a chance to back out of this. But she's too far gone at this point.

 

"Yes."

 


	4. part four

 

His hand presses against the small of her back as they hurry towards his truck. She relishes in the steadying pressure of it, her legs weak.

 

When he pulls the door open for her, she's a little surprised, smiling at him. His cheeks burn red even in the moonlight and he sheepishly looks down at their feet. Swallowing, Carol climbs into the truck, the leather seats scorching against her thighs.

 

It's suffocating in there, the day's heat conserved in the metal cage. She already struggled to breathe before but now she's just sucking in the warm air, hands curled into fists in her lap when Daryl climbs into the driver's seat and shuts the door.

 

The sound echoes in the silence that follows and for a moment, Carol wonders if this was a mistake. But she can still feel the tingle of his kisses and the pleasant aftermath of her release, and quickly the need for more takes over.

 

"Ya change ya mind?" Daryl asks hoarsely, and when she turns to look at him he's worrying his thumbnail between his teeth.

 

She shakes her head, reaches across to rest a hand on his thigh. Just above his knee, almost innocent. But he groans anyway and not a second later the truck roars to life.

 

 

 

It's too hot. Sweat pearls at her tailbone, her bare thighs sticking to the seats. She can barely breathe and she knows the scent of her - of _sex_ \- is filling the space.

 

Knows that he knows because he's squirming next to her, driving a little faster than he should down the deserted street. Her fingers dig into his thigh without conscious thought, grasping him.

 

He bucks into her touch each time, and from the corner of her eyes she can see his face tense with concentration. He's still straining against his jeans, shifting his hips every now and then - for comfort or relief, she doesn't know.

 

All she knows is that it's ten more minutes to her apartment and she's about to run out of air or burst out of her skin and he's struggling even more.

 

"Pull over," she breathes, letting her head fall back against the headrest with a dull thud.

 

"What?" he asks, sounding a little dumbfounded and while she knows he doesn't have a lot of blood left for his brain functions she has no patience to explain herself.

 

"Pull over." This time, she slides her hand up the inside of his thigh, cupping the length of him with a firm grasp to make her point clear.

 

He hisses a curse through gritted teeth and the truck stutters a little. He doesn't need to be asked twice, though, pulling over to the side of the road. Surrounded by mostly office buildings, there's nobody roaming the streets at this hour.

 

"Carol-"' he chokes, but she doesn't give him time to question her intentions. Reaching over, she curls her hands around his neck, tugging him towards her until her lips crash into his. It's a sloppy mess of tongues and teeth for a moment before they find something resembling an urgent, needy rhythm.

 

Daryl kills the engine, bathing them in darkness. His hand clutches her waist then, fingers bruising against her flesh and she needs to be closer, needs to feel him against her.

 

Moaning when his tongue traces her own, she climbs onto the seat, the top of her head grazing the roof of the car for a moment. She doesn't care, balances herself on Daryl's shoulders and straddles him, her skirt getting caught for a moment.

 

He grasps it for her, bunches the skirt up around her waist and splays his hands over her thighs without ceremony.

 

She lowers herself onto him quickly, moaning when the length of him pressed snug against her core. Wasting no time, she scrapes her nails down his neck, reaching between them for his belt.

 

The metal cling echoes in the quiet of the truck, and she makes quick work of unbuckling it. Daryl doesn't exactly make it easy for her, kissing her deep and bucking up into her. Finally, though, she pops open his button and drags the zipper down. Reaching inside, she curls her fingers around the base of him - warm and smooth, thick in her palm.

 

Daryl tears his mouth away from her with an obscene grunt, his head hitting the headrest with more force than her own did. " _Fuck!_ " he hisses, grasping her thighs hard.

 

She strokes him as best as she can within the confines of his clothes, burying her face in the crook of his neck where he smells like pine, smoke and fresh sweat. The heat in the car is both better and worse like this, overshadowed by a different, burning desire.

 

Mouthing kisses down his neck, she moves her hand along his length, trailing her thumb over the head and earning herself a deep groan. She feels powerful like this, desirable.

 

When Daryl's hand slides up her thigh, she's suddenly reminded of her own need, of the emptiness inside of her. "Please," she whines, pulling back to press her forehead against his.

 

Breathing the same air, they are quiet and still for a moment. Then, slowly, she frees him from his clothes - a struggle when she can't push his pants off - but she manages. Just enough. He's warm against the inside of her thigh and he bucks up against her. His fingers find the cotton of her underwear, brushing against her for a moment before doing just what she imagined earlier, roughly dragging the cotton to the side.

 

She shifts enough for him to press against her perfectly, the underside of him snug against her wetness and they both make strangled sounds when their bare skin meets, it feels too good. Warm, smooth, hard.

 

Their bare skin. _Shit._

 

"Carol, stop!" Daryl pants, seemingly coming to the same conclusion, grasping her hips and trying to push her away from him. All that does is slide her along his length in the most maddening way and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep at least somewhat quiet. "Ain't got a condom," he rasps, sounding a little desperate.

 

She whimpers in frustration, pressing her forehead to his shoulder instead, not moving an inch. The pressure of him against her is tempting, and all it would take is one shift of her hips to let him glide inside of her. She's on the pill, but she doesn't know if she's willing to risk anything else - she doesn't really think Daryl does this any more frequently than she does, but she's met his brother twice and if that's any indication then she'd rather not take the risk.

 

But the promise of him filling her like this without any barriers is making her quiver. "I have some at my place," she whispers against his neck and he throbs against her, fingers tightening around her waist at the reassurance that this isn't over yet.

 

He's got to be even more miserable than she is, though. His entire body is tense against hers, his voice strained. It seems unfair to let him suffer through this and when they get to her place, she doesn't want this to be over in a few hurried strokes.

 

Nervously biting her lip, she shifts away from him. Keeping her weight rested on his thighs, she reaches between them again, finds his length. He's slick with her own arousal now, making it easier for her to grasp him firmly and stroke him all the way from base to tip.

 

He thrusts up into her touch with such force that her back knocks into the steering wheel - most likely just barely avoiding a loud honking noise that would give them away.

 

She doesn't stop, presses a trail of open-mouthed kisses up his neck while moving her hand quickly, firmly.

 

“Carol, ya gotta stop,” he pants, one hand finding the back of her neck. His fingers find purchase in the short curls of her hair at the base of her skull, sending a shiver down her spine. “Ain't gonna-”

 

She only squeezes him harder, feels him throbbing in her palm. “Do you think we still can-” she begins to ask, looking at him through her lashes. Suddenly, she feels shy about downright saying what they both know will happen. ”You know... If I...” She glances down between them, watching as Daryl swallows.

 

Trailing her thumb over the tip of him, his back arches off the seat, trapping her hand between them. “Hell, yes,” he grunts, and she chooses to trust him on this. That he'll be ready for more when they get to her place.

 

She's not sure if she's actually any good at this, but the way his breathing grows more and more rapid and his length swells in her palm, she can't be doing so bad of a job.

 

His hand sneaks between them to grab her breast, apparently just as fed up with all the fabric as she is. Roughly, he pulls down her blouse and the cup of her bra, enough for her breast to spill over and he doesn't hesitate one second to dive down and wrap his lips around the stiff, rosy peak.

 

She shudders above him, her hand stuttering mid stroke as a spark shoots through her veins.

 

“Ya gonna get us arrested,” Daryl mutters against her pale skin, his hips thrusting up into her hand eagerly.

 

A grin spread across her face, fingers curling into the hair at the back of his skull to hold him flush against her. “Would be a date to remember, right?”

 

He presses a kiss just above her nipple, lingering there. His breath is almost cool against her skin, slick with sweat. “Already is,” he breathes, and she sighs when his hand finds her back, holding her in an embrace.

 

“Yeah.” There's a lump forming in her throat, tears stinging in her eyes because it's all too much. She's never felt like this before, consumed and restless.

 

Trying to distract herself, she increases her pace, stroking him quicker and quicker and he swells in her hand even more. “Fuck,” he grunts, his hips meeting hers while his hand tries to still her, a contradiction. “'m gonna- _Carol_!”

 

She appreciates his warning but has no intention of moving away. They're both a mess already. Instead, she keeps up her rhythm, rocks herself against him.

 

“It's okay,” she reassures him, and that seems to push him over the edge. He groans, the sound vibrating against her skin where he buries his face in the valley between her breasts and he bucks up into her, the warmth of his release spilling over her hand and thigh.

 

She eases him through it, slowing down her strokes until he begins to shudder from the sensitivity and she pulls her hand away, resting it on her thigh. He still throbs against her, making her core ache.

 

He mutters something that she doesn't understand, but she forgets to ask when he sucks her nipple into his mouth a second later, scraping his teeth over the sensitive peak - they really need to get going or whatever resolve she still has is going to crumble.

 

"Daryl," she says softly, and he pulls away to meet her gaze. Silently, they understand each other.

 

He tucks himself back into his pants as she climbs off his lap. With red cheeks, he offers her some tissues from the glove compartment and she accepts them with a smile, cleaning herself up as best as she can.

 

Daryl starts the car then, the roar of the old engine too loud in the quiet night. She expects him to just drive but he takes her by surprise, leaning over and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. It's chaste compared to what they just did, sweet in a way she didn't expect.

 

Her heart stutters in her chest for a moment but then he hits the gas pedal, and the empty street lies ahead of them a second later.

 


	5. part five

In the end, worrying about whether or not Daryl is up for more was a waste of time. If anything, he's more eager than before, less hesitant in the way he touches her.

 

Carol nearly drops her keys, struggling to open the front door of her apartment building with Daryl pressing into her from behind. His lips mouth over the back of her neck, more intimate and tender than she's ready to handle. Her heart feels oddly full, her stomach fluttering with anticipation and nervousness alike.

 

His solid chest is flush against her back, her knees weak and buckling. She lets out a sigh of relief when the key finally, _finally_ slides into the lock, reaching behind herself and all but dragging Daryl into the dimly-lit hallway.

 

Before she even hears the door falling shut, his hands grab her waist and spin her around. The yelp that tears from her throat is easily swallowed by his eager lips, meeting hers with a bruising force that she responds to instantly.

 

Her hands desperately clutch his shoulders, balancing herself as he takes two long strides, her back meeting the wall by the elevator. It still knocks the air from her lungs but this time, Daryl's arm that's curled around her back softens the impact.

 

He never managed to properly buckle up his belt again after they parked in front of the building and hurried inside, and now she can feel the metal buckle pressing against her hipbone. It's not what really has her attention, though.

 

No. She doesn't care about the discomfort of it or the fact that her entire body feels sticky and disgusting. That her feet hurt and her throat is dry.

 

His tongue is warm and wet against her own, his hips pushing against her core - the belt buckle not the only hard thing pressing into her. She arches into him, sliding her hands under his vest to rest against his back.

 

For a small moment, he tenses against her. But the moment fades as quickly as it came, and then he's parting from the kiss with a groan. Wasting no time, he leaves a trail of kisses along the line of her jaw and down her throat, hands curled around her waist. The pads of his thumbs just barely graze the underside of her breasts, a teasing promise and reminder of how good it had felt when he touched her bare skin before.

 

Her eyes have long drifted shut, and absent-mindedly she runs her hand over the plain wall next to her until she finds the button for the elevator. She presses it a little rougher than usual, and maybe three times as much but _God_ \- she needs to hear the sound of her apartment's door falling shut behind them. Now.

 

Daryl's warm lips are sucking on the swell of her breast, and she can feel the skin bruising just slightly as a shudder wrecks her body. "Please," she whines, beginning for everything and nothing in particular at the same time.

 

He just does it again, thrusting up against her and sinking his teeth into her soft flesh and if the damn elevator doesn't hurry up she's going to throw all caution to the wind and do this right here.

 

The sound of the elevator doors opening is a salvation, and they both let out a relieved sigh that morphs into a shy chuckle at their eagerness. Daryl's hands curl around her waist, and she stumbles backwards into the elevator with his lips claiming hers.

 

“What floor?” he mutters into the kiss, running his tongue along the seam of her lips as his thumbs draw circles into the dips above her hipbones.

 

It takes her a moment to process his question, her body and mind focused on nothing else but the pleasure she feels and the release she seeks. “Eight,” she breathes, hooking her leg around his to pull his hips flush against her own.

 

Daryl hisses at the contact, stumbling forward until she collides with the wall of the elevator. Groaning, she holds on to him, her eyes rolling into the back of her head when he hooks her leg higher against his hips and thrusts up against her. He parts from the kiss, but instead of pulling away he rests his forehead against hers. His eyes are dark, hooded. Intriguing and almost menacing, but there's so much shyness and insecurity there, as well.

 

Being so close, their bodies still for a moment, Carol feels the weight of their actions more than before. More than when she felt his fingers inside of her, more than when he touched her bare skin, more than when she felt his release spilling warm on her own hand.

 

Even now, she can't explain why they're both acting the way they do, why they're allowing themselves to get so carried away. It's a pull stronger than anything else she's ever felt. Maybe, just maybe, he feels the same.

 

“Eighth floor,” she repeats, nudging her nose against his briefly. The tender moment only lasts for a second before it becomes too much and she crashes her mouth to his, sucking and nibbling and drawing a groan from his chest in a way she never thought herself capable of.

 

She can feel him fumbling with the buttons to their left, eventually parting from the kiss with a frustrated huff. As he turns his head to find the right button to press, Carol uses the chance to suckle at the skin of his throat. He shudders against her just as he presses the button, and even before the doors finally close he's focused back on her.

 

The hand that holds her thigh hitched up on his hips smooths over her soft, clammy skin, his fingertips eventually grazing the swell of her ass and Carol has to stop herself from sinking her teeth into the crook of his neck at the sensation. He doesn't stop, though, not until he skims over soaked cotton and slides his fingers beneath.

 

From this angle, he can't do much, but just the warm, calloused, flickering touch of his fingers against her core is enough to make her hips buck, back and forth, not knowing what to chase as he keeps thrusting against her eagerly.

 

The elevator roars to life, old and weary and slow. Usually, she spends her time in here staring at the floor numbers slowly ticking by – something to distract herself from the confines of this metal cage paneled with dark wood. Right now, though, the feeling of being trapped and being breathless is completely welcome.

 

Her head rolls back when Daryl shifts his hand enough for his finger to slip into her, just the tip, teasing. His lips find her earlobe, nibbling slightly and she doesn't think she can stand all this for much longer. Each of his thrusts sends his finger a little further into her, and the heat that tenses every muscle in her body is almost painful by now.

 

“Daryl, I- oh, _fuck_!” she mutters incoherently, biting her lip. “I don't... I'm not- this is-”

 

Faintly, she worries about the elevator stopping on a random floor and somebody walking in on them. But the fear is entirely overshadowed by her need to finally _feel_ him, bare skin against her own, the stretch of him filling her. The thrill of all this recklessness.

 

Daryl pulls away enough to look at her, panting against her lips. “Me, neither,” he rasps, bucking up into her and shuddering each time the heat of her core presses against his length. “This is...,” he trails off, most likely at a loss for words just like her. All she does is nod.

 

The elevator comes to a stuttering halt and Carol breathes a sigh of relief. Whimpering when Daryl withdraws his finger from her and releases her leg, she smooths down her skirt. The doors open then, revealing an empty hallway.

 

“Come on,” she breathes, her heart pounding faster than it has all night because they're _almost there_ , and she can see the anticipation wrecking Daryl just as much when she grabs his hand and drags him out of the elevator.

 

The old and stained glass lamp on the wall offers little light, flickering with each hurried step they take towards her apartment. Her hands shake when she grabs the key, Daryl's lips sucking behind her ear again. His hands are curled around her stomach, one drifting down over her thigh as she slides the key into the lock.

 

When his hand meets the bare skin of her thigh and draws up her skirt, she drops her head back against his chest, eyes closed – almost forgetting that they're a few steps away from finally- “ _Daryl!_ ” she gasps when he reaches her hips and tugs at her underwear, sliding it halfway down her thighs before she has a chance to do anything about it.

 

“I want ya,” he mutters hoarsely into her ear, bucking his hard length against her ass and the tug deep in her groin is sharp and painful. Turning the key in the lock, she pushes open the door, the feeling of Daryl's lips sucking on her pulse point all too distracting.

 

Her underwear hits the floor before they've even taken two steps into her dark apartment, and the door falls shut with a low thud that makes her heart skip a beat.

 


	6. part six

Her bathroom door slams into the wall with so much force that she's pretty sure it left a dent. But she doesn't give a damn – right now, it could break out of its hinges and Carol wouldn't blink twice. Not with Daryl's fingers buried inside of her as far as they can go, thrusting into her over and over with each stumbling step they take. Not with his lips curled around her nipple, sucking, scraping his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

 

She'd shrugged his vest off his shoulders in the hallway, the thick leather hitting the ground with a dull thud. Her own blouse is lost somewhere, too, pulled open so roughly that she's sure a few buttons did not survive. Neither of them bothered with the clasp of her bra, and Daryl's rough hands just pulled down the cups until her breasts spilled over.

 

For a brief moment, she'd wanted to rid him of his own shirt, her trembling fingers undoing the first few buttons. But it had taken too long, and that had been right around the time he thrust his fingers into her without warning and she'd quickly abandoned her task. Instead, she'd pulled his belt from the loops of his jeans and dragged down the zipper, unable to wait even a second longer.

 

“Where?” Daryl pants, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, steering her into the darkness. Only moonlight floods the bathroom, bathing them in a milky, pale light and it's a stark contrast to the red heat Carol feels pulsing inside of her.

 

“Sink,” she sighs, all but clawing at Daryl to hold on. His strides grow longer and she yelps when the edge of the counter suddenly digs into the small of her back.

 

Daryl pulls away from her, his fingers out of her, looking at her through a few messy strands of his hair. Lips swollen, eyes dark. Carol swallows the lump in her throat, giving him one brief nod before turning around and sinking down to her knees. Her hands shake like a leaf when she opens the cabinets, impatiently rummaging through all kinds of odds and ends, desperate for the box she knows she hid in the very back.

 

Her friends had given it to her the day her divorce was finalized to cheer her up, but it had remained untouched until now. “Shit,” she hisses when a few tubes and bottles of make up and nail polish tumble out of the cabinet and noisily hit the floor. But finally, she finds what she's looking for, ripping open the box and pulling out one foil packet – her stomach flipping at the reality of all this.

 

She turns around then, freezing when she realizes what she did. She's staring right at Daryl's undone pants, the length of him straining against the denim and the cotton of his underwear, hands balled into fists by his thighs. Inches away from her. She doesn't know why, but she looks up at him – his angular face illuminated by the moonlight and a jolt of electricity shoots through her veins at the sight of him. The look in his eyes. The way his throat moves as he swallows.

 

All of a sudden, she feels tingly with curiosity, her eyes flickering between his heated stare and the proof of how much he wants her. Usually, the mere thought brings along a wave of disgust, discomfort and a load of bad memories. Never curiosity, never this insatiable need.

 

But right now, she doesn't have the courage to try, and she sure as hell doesn't have the patience to prolong this for a minute longer. Daryl seems to agree, reaching down to gently but determinedly pull her back up. “Come 'ere,” he murmurs, taking the condom from her as he buries his face in her neck and sucks at the tender, reddened skin.

 

Her hands are frantic now, pushing at his pants, trying to get them past his hips and she just barely succeeds before she finds his length and curls her hand around the base of him, tugging and squeezing until he grunts against her.

 

Two large, calloused hands wrap around her waist and lift her up until she sits on the edge of the counter. It's cold through the thin fabric of her skirt but she barely registers it. His hands find her knees, pushing them apart and she lets her legs fall open easily. Squirms when he trails one hand up the inside of her thigh, the other fumbling with the condom wrapper.

 

“Let me,” she groans, bucking against him and all but tearing it from his hands. She makes quick work of it, bottom lip drawn between her teeth when he finds the slick heat of her again, flicking his fingers against her hard and fast. Reaching down between them, she has to suck in a sharp breath to focus. When her fingers touch him again – warm and thick and hard – he groans her name, clashes his mouth to hers and there's no hesitation when she wraps her legs around his hips and pushes him towards her with her heels.

 

One hand remains curled around him, guiding him, while the other clutches the back of his neck. The kiss is deep, messy, and she can barely breathe.

 

Daryl's hands find her hips, roughly drag her forward and he needs no more guidance then. One second she's holding him, the next he's pushing inside of her with so much force that she feels the air being knocked out of her lungs. It's accompanied by a cry that tears violently from her throat, swallowed by Daryl's bruising kiss.

 

Her fingers curl around the edge of the counter with a white-knuckled grasp. The feeling of him inside of her – _finally_ – is making her dizzy. The warmth, the thickness, the stretch. He doesn't waste a moment to move, either, just as tightly wound as she is.

 

His hips move furiously as he pulls out almost all the way only to slam back into her, each thrust sending her body jolting backwards. Desperate for air, she tears her head away from his mouth, moaning loudly and tightening the lock of her legs around his hips.

 

“Fuck!” he grunts. His hands are tight around her hips, pulling her forward to meet each thrust and the sensation of it is unlike anything she's ever felt before.

 

Moaning with each of his thrust – quick, hard and relentless - Carol grasps for him, wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face in the crook of his shoulder. His warm, sweat-slicked skin muffles a string of curses she can't hold back, tension coiling low in her abdomen, every muscle in her body taut, ready to snap.

 

But she has little leverage here, can barely feel an inch of his bare skin against hers and she finds herself craving that now more than before. The counter digs into her thighs, her skirt bunched around her waist, breasts pressed to his clothed chest.

 

“Daryl,” she gasps, barely able to form coherent words. Her nails scrape down the back of his neck, tugging slightly at his hair and drawing a groan from him that makes her shiver. “The bed- I need- this is... _God!_ ”

 

His grip on her tightens for a moment and he nods against her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the pale skin there. Then, his hands slide under her thighs, grasping her and hauling her up against him in a move that allows him to slide even deeper inside. “ _Shit!_ ” he hisses, pulling her away from the counter and then he's stumbling back towards the door.

 

He's no longer thrusting but he's still buried deep inside of her. Carol tries to calm her breathing, holding on to him tight with her arms and legs. He feels so good inside of her, throbbing and warm and she never knew it could be like this. There's almost a sense of dread knowing that she won't last much longer, the first waves of her release slowly simmering down now that his thrusts have ceased but she knows they'll take no time at all to build back up.

 

“Second door on the right,” she murmurs, nuzzling her nose against his pulse point, inhaling the scent of him. It feels like she's crawling under his skin, but she wants more, needs to _feel_ more.

 

In the darkness of her hallway, there's little chance to navigate and Daryl isn't familiar with her apartment. It's no wonder when his foot gets tangled up in either his vest or her blouse – she can't tell – and he grunts, pressing her up against the wall to prevent them from falling down.

 

Carol cries out in a mixture of pain and pleasure when her back hits the wall, sending a picture frame tumbling to the ground. The glass shatters noisily but she only faintly hears the sound because-

 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Daryl all but roars. The impact sent him deeper inside of her than before, deeper than she thought possible and she can't breathe, can't move for a few seconds as her body adjusts and then all she feels is full and complete and so fucking close all over again. “Y'all ri-”

 

“Again,” she pants, clutching his back and tilting her hips towards him. “Do that again.” Her inner muscles flutter around him, tighter by the second and she can hear Daryl swallowing, one hand bracing on the wall by her side while the other keeps her hauled up against him.

 

“Thought ya wanted-”

 

“I don't care, just- Again. Please,” she whines, squeezing around him on purpose. His entire body shudders in response and he bucks into her by instinct, hitting a perfect spot. “There, please. I'm so- I'm gonna- Daryl, _please!_ ”

 

All hopes of a soft mattress and bared skin evaporate on the spot, overshadowed by something else, a desire that's buried much deeper than anything else she's ever felt. Her muttered words seem to convince Daryl that this is really what she wants and he's pulling out of her a few inches a second later, lingering for just one moment. Keeping her balanced on the edge with so much anticipation that she feels the air around them charged with electricity.

 

When he pushes into her again, her back rides up the rough wallpaper, his name a long, drawn-out moan. And he doesn't stop.

 

Instead, he all but pounds into her, his head presses to her forehead as the sound of their slick skin and ragged breaths, muffled cries and low moans fills the small space. She's so close, so damn close and all she needs is for him to last a little longer, to maintain the furious, fast and hard rhythm. Just a little longer. Just a little-

 

“ _More,_ ” she groans, digging her nails into his tailbone, throwing her head back against the wall. “I need- Oh!”

 

His lips are warm and wet when they suckle at the swell of her breast, and she knows there'll be a bruise forming on the skin later. She'll be sore tomorrow, too, can already feel the ache building. But it's all worth it, worth chasing this high.

 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, snapping his hips into hers, grunting with the exertion of it. “Tell me what-”

 

She can't. Can't say anything anymore, just grinds her hips against his, chasing friction against his pelvis. Briefly, she considers sliding her hand down her front, feeling him filling her, touch herself until she tumbles over the edge. But she doesn't want to give herself the release she seeks so desperately.

 

Daryl seems to understand, maybe recognizes her trembling from earlier. He's close, too. More erratic, more breathless. Rougher, faster, less focused. “Carol, 'm gonna-” He grunts the warning against her breast and she mewls in protest, pulling herself even closer against him in hope of more friction and she's so close, _so close_ -

 

“No!” she cries when he roughly sets her down on unsteady feet, pulling out of her. The broken glass of the picture frame crunches under his heavy boots as he grabs her hips, hitching up her skirt and turning her around. Stepping into her space until his chest is flush with her back and her breasts are pressed into the wall. “What-”

 

“This all right?” he asks, his voice no more than a low whisper right by her ear, sending a tremor down her spine. She nods frantically, tilting her hips back against him and feeling his length snug against her ass. The moment of respite doesn't last for long when he pulls her hips back a little and pushes back inside of her in a rough thrust. It's a slick glide, the sound of his thighs against her ass filling the room as he picks up where he left off.

 

Only now that his hands no longer have to hold her up, they start to roam. One finds her breast, palms and kneads the weight of it, drags his thumb over her nipple as his lips descent on the side of her neck. His other hand slides down the quivering plane of her stomach to where she's warm and slick, and he finds the right spot almost instantly now – but she has a feeling he could have touched anywhere and it would have sent her over the edge.

 

Her eyes squeeze shut at the overload of sensation, his thick length throbbing deep inside of her, his hands all over her trembling body. Unable to hold back any longer her head falls back against his shoulder. One hand claws pointlessly at the wall, the other reaching behind herself to grasp his hip to keep him close.

 

“Daryl!” she cries, digging her nails into his scalp and then she can feel him swelling inside of her, not really thrusting anymore but pushing himself into her until he can go no further. He muffles his groan in the crook of her shoulder, rubbing furious circles over her sensitive flesh and then the coil in her abdomen snaps. Her body goes rigid against him, her inner muscles clamping down on him so hard that she can feel him struggling to even keep moving.

 

It doesn't matter much, though, because he groans her name a second later, pulls her flush against him, pulsing inside of her with a few more rough thrusts that make her yelp from the sheer force behind them.

 

In that moment, she almost wishes she had thrown caution to the wind and not asked him to wear a condom – longing to feel the warmth of his release spilling inside of her, wondering if it might have made it even more intense. But she's too hazy to dwell on the thought for long, her muscles still fluttering with aftershocks as Daryl bucks weakly into her.

 

Her entire body feels limp, sated in a way she's never known. She could fall asleep right here and now in Daryl's arms, pressed up against the wall, covered in sweat and the kind of bruises she never knew before. The good kind. Her lungs heave and she sucks in a sharp breath when Daryl moves his hand away from her overly sensitive flesh, resting his palm on her abdomen instead. The hand on her breast lowers down to her rapidly beating heart, and his lips press a kiss to her shoulder that makes her smile drowsily against her will.

 

This feels soft. Mellow. Foreign. Almost like a dream and she sighs with contentment, her hand finding his to entwine their fingers. There's a sweetness to the way he holds her now that makes her heart feel full.

 

Slowly, he's beginning to grow soft inside of her, but she doesn't want to pull away just yet. Isn't ready to talk, and not ready for this moment between them to end. Instead, she turns her head, presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. It's too dark to see much more than a faint glimmer in his eyes and his silhouette, but she is pretty sure he's blushing behind the short curtain of his hair.

 

“Shower?” she asks quietly, suddenly feeling shy for even suggesting it. But they're both a mess and now that the raw desire is beginning to fade into dim embers, Carol is reminded of her need to feel his bare skin against her own. Daryl nods slightly, chasing her lips for a kiss that steals her breath – softer, gentler than before.

 

Making her head spin and her stomach flutter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehem I think I'm going to join a convent soon. But at least all the waiting is over, right? :) 
> 
> I'm not entirely sure yet how to end this story, but there will definitely be one more chapter.


	7. part seven

For a little while, being in the shower with Daryl feels a little awkward. Even though they're both naked, there's nothing sexual about it now. Even though they are touching bare skin, she doesn't feel the same desire stirring as before.

 

She took him here to have sex, that much had been clear. This, though... This feels too sensual, too intimate a moment to share with someone she barely knows.

 

But eventually, she accepts the moment for what it is, choosing not to overthink it until she needs to. And they _will_ have to talk eventually. But not now.

 

The warm water lapping at her aching limbs and washing away her sweat feels too good. And so does he - all solid muscle and warm skin. Soap bubbles still cover them head to toe but she's too tired to wash them away, too content right here to move an inch.

 

Her head rests against Daryl's chest, her arms curled around his stomach much like his own that are wrapped around her waist. His chin rests on the top of her head, chest and stomach rising with each breath.

 

There's so much calm in this moment that Carol feels herself drifting off to sleep more and more, catching herself pressing her lips to Daryl's chest sleepily.

 

Beneath her palms, she still feels the raised skin of long-healed scars. She'd nearly sucked in a sharp gasp when she felt them earlier. Now, she doesn't linger on them. No more than Daryl had lingered on her own.

 

When he shed his shirt, exposing a dark past, she'd been surprised he found the courage to undress at all. Judging by his shy, nervous expression, Daryl felt just as shocked.

 

Feeling a sting of sadness, she'd peeled away her own clothes - what little remained of them - and his curious fingers had ghosted over cigarette burns and small cuts that littered her pale skin. Shame had nearly caused her to crumble, but he didn't look at her with disgust or pity. Something softer and gentler shimmered in his eyes instead, something that soothed her worries away.

 

Neither of them said a word, and they are just as quiet now.

 

His scars are thick and long. Not the kind that's left behind after an accident or clumsiness. He has those, too. Scattered over his torso, arms, and legs. Marks that life inevitably leaves behind.

 

No. The ones on his back are angry and deep, almost precise in their randomness. They tell a sad, sad story, one she knows all too well.

 

The texture of them, faded and hardened, reminds her of a scar she has on her calf from when she fell off her bike as a child. Maybe his are just as old. The thought fills her with so much misery that she has to blink away a few prickling tears.

 

She doesn't ask him what caused them. He granted her the kindness of not inquiring about her own scars, and she'll show him the same mercy. Asking him would only push her luck, and she's not sure she wants to know the whole truth right now and let it taint this moment. Her imagination is painting an image already that's too miserable to keep up.

 

She borrows further into Daryl's embrace, willing the dark thoughts away.

 

The need to stay here like this, wrapped in the cocoon of Daryl's arms, is overwhelming. A temptation as sweet as honey. But she's exhausted, her legs barely able to keep her upright and so she pulls away from Daryl just enough to look up at him.

 

He's a sight for sore eyes, water pearling in his hair and on his brows, cheeks flushed and lips kiss-swollen. Blue eyes still dark, hazy.

 

Even though she meant to pull away and head out of the shower, she can't resist the urge to lean into Daryl and press her lips to his. He responds instantly, but the kiss is different than before. Slow, deep. Languid and almost shy. Intensified by the feeling of their bare, slick skin pressed together.

 

A sigh escapes her when Daryl's hand cradles the back of her head, fingers sifting through the short curls of her hair. Her own hand begins to roam, too. Tracing his hips and rib cage, feeling him shudder against her.

 

Her tongue traces the seam of his lips, desperate to taste him again, to feel more of him even though they are already so close.

 

Her breasts pressed to his chest. His length against her abdomen, slowly stirring back to life.

 

Daryl moans when he opens up for her, tongues meeting in a slow dance, and the heat she'd felt before begins to grow again, flames lapping at her despite the soreness she already feels.

 

They need to stop before this has a chance to get out of hand again.

 

With a sigh, she pulls away, her hands finding Daryl's arms. Almost shyly, she looks up at him, his eyes curious and a little disappointed.

 

"Water's going to get cold," she whispers, shivering when his hand moves down the length of her spine and comes to rest against the small of her back.

 

He nods, but for a moment neither of them move away. Gazes locked, hearts beating the same erratic tune as the water washes away the last bubbles of soap.

 

Carol is the one to pull herself out of her trance first, despite still feeling the tingle of his kiss on her lips - tasting like a promise of more.

 

 

 

His hair is a mess now that he roughly dried it with a towel, and Carol can't help but grin at him. He flushes bright red when he notices, looking down at his bare feet.

 

The towel that he wrapped around his hips sits low, and her eyes are drawn to the flat plane of his stomach and the fine line of hair leading down to-

 

She needs to stop.

 

"I, ehm... I think I still have some clothes you can wear," she stutters, fumbling with the knot of her own towel she's wrapped in. Daryl's eyebrows raise in confusion, and she wishes she didn't have to bring this up. "They're my ex-husband's. I meant to donate them but I never got around to it."

 

Daryl nods, sadness ghosting over his face. Then, his expression changes. "Ya don't want me to leave?" he asks, sounding almost terrified to ask.

 

She's not sure how this works, if she _should_ ask him to leave. But it seems wrong to let him drive this late, and if she's being honest, the promise of a warm body next to her own is too tempting to resist.

 

"It's so late already," she replies. "You can stay the night."

 

She feels embarrassed now, overwhelmed by the aftermath of what they did. Whatever need had driven them has faded now, leaving them to deal with the fallout. Not sure what to say, Carol quickly turns around and heads to her bedroom, determined to find Ed's old clothes for Daryl to wear.

 

She's kneeling on the floor in front of her closet, digging through a cardboard box when she hears Daryl entering the room.

 

"Ain't ever done this before," he mutters, and Carol stills her frantic search, fingers curling into a worn pair of sweatpants.

 

Taking a deep breath, she turns to look at Daryl, the dim light of the small lamp on her bedside table casting intriguing shadows on his face and bare chest.

 

"Me, neither," she almost whispers, their confessions not making it any easier for her to feel more at ease. Daryl seems just as nervous, worrying his thumbnail with his teeth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

 

"Can leave if ya wanna," he mutters, the offer making her heart skip a beat. There's so much sweetness and kindness buried under his rough exterior, she never knew the extent of it until now.

 

Taking a deep, calming breath, she puts down the pants, raises to her feet. Daryl swallows visibly, and she doesn't miss the way his eyes flicker down to her bare legs peaking out from under her towel. She can feel a few droplets of water running down her chest and disappearing beneath the towel, Daryl's eyes following the trail they leave behind.

 

"I want you to stay," she reassures him with a low voice, deeper and more hoarse than usual. The steps she takes towards him are slow, the floor cold beneath her bare feet. "Really."

 

Daryl nods, but he doesn't move towards her. Frozen in the middle of her bedroom, he looks like an animal backed into a corner, shy and almost frightful in a way that's familiar. None of it had shown through since they left the diner, though.

 

"Wanna stay," he mutters under his breath, and Carol feels a shiver running down her spine at the sound of his voice. Raw and honest. The last step she takes towards him makes her heart pound, and she hopes he doesn't feel the nervous tremor in her fingers when she rests them against the sides of his neck.

 

Her lips meet his then, soft and slow. He sighs against her, arms curling around her back to pull her against him and she doesn't protest at all. Instead, she pushes herself up onto her toes, eager to get closer to him.

 

Calloused fingers trace the line of her towel beneath her shoulder blades and Carol makes quick work of reaching between them, tugging at the knot until the towel falls away, hitting the floor quietly, pooling around her feet.

 

His own joins it a few seconds later, the dull thud of the impact inaudible over the needy whisper of her name on his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this ;)


	8. part eight

It feels different this time. Slow, lazy. Malleable in a way she never knew. There's no more rush, no frantic need. They take their time, lips covering bare skin, hands roaming over planes and curves.

 

The mattress is soft beneath her back, her legs opened so that Daryl can rest in the cradle of her thighs.

 

He is pressed snugly against her, hard and throbbing, but there's little urgency to the way he kisses her, slow and deep. Her hands clutch his arms, foot resting against his calf to give herself some leverage. In a slow rhythm, she rocks herself against him, the friction delicious, stirring the embers in her core.

 

Now that the adrenaline has faded, they move differently. There's a shyness and hesitation to Daryl's touch that only briefly shone through before.

 

When he kisses down her neck, nuzzling his face against her pulse point, his touch is feather light.

 

When he kisses a trail between the valley of her breasts, he looks up at her, silently asking for permission before curling his lips around the rosy peak of her breast. Her back arches off the bed, fingers curling into the sheets.

 

When he kisses her hipbone, Carol feels herself flushing a deep shade of red from her cheeks down to her chest, and she gently nudges at him to come back up to her, not ready for _that_.

 

The thought, though. _God._ The thought of his lips kissing her there, warm and eager. It makes her squirm under him and pull him into a desperate kiss.

 

She relishes in the feeling of his bare skin against her own, her own hands and lips mapping him out. Smoothing down his sides until she reaches his narrow hips, kissing the curve of his shoulder, tracing the tattoos that cover his skin.

 

She doesn't even know how much time passes like this, just exploring without any sort of rush. It could be minutes or hours - it feels lazy, comfortable. New.

 

Eventually, though, it starts to feel too good. And yet not enough.

 

His fingers finds her wet and ready, easily gliding along her delicate skin, sinking into her again and again. Her panting breaths dampen his lips, his forehead pressed to her own. With a stuttering hand, she reaches down between them, strokes him slowly, firmly.

 

Old insecurities are on the verge of overwhelming her now that they are exposed and unhurried. Wondering if she's doing it right.

 

But the way he murmurs her name against her lips and swallows her moan seem like good signs to her.

 

They move like this for a while, giving and taking in equal amounts and she never knew what it was like to _receive_. To be given more than she feels she can ever give.

 

He surprises her when he gently rolls over onto his back, his arms around her pulling her along. His calloused hand reaches for her thigh, hitches it over his hip until she's straddling him.

 

Her eyes grow wide in shock for a moment but then her body catches up with her and _God_ he's pressed right against her so perfectly and whatever shyness or fear she felt evaporates when she presses her hands to his chest and begins to grind against him on pure instinct alone.

 

"Shit," Daryl hisses, his hands reaching up to cup her breasts and she only grinds down harder, the tip of him pressing perfectly against her bundle of nerves, white heat coiling in her abdomen. "Ya gotta stop."

 

He sounds so miserable, weakly bucking up into her, a pleading look in his eyes. She wants to keep going, move faster and faster to chase the release she craves so much. But the memory of him filling her is still sharp, making her throb.

 

Quickly, she reaches for the condom they'd grabbed earlier. She makes quick work of opening the foil package but makes sure to roll it into him slowly. He groans, his head falling back against her pillow and his hands clutching her hips.

 

A sudden flicker of nervousness tingles inside of her when she positions him at her entrance, feeling him press against her. She's never done it like this before. Was never allowed.

 

"Hey, y'all right?" he asks hoarsely, one hand finding her cheek. She smiles sadly, leaning into his comforting touch.

 

"I am."

 

Slowly, she begins to lower herself down onto him, taking inch by inch inside of her. The stretch makes her squeeze her eyes shut, the pressure drawing a moan from her lips and Daryl's hand on her cheek moves to her neck, pulling her down until he meets her lips in a searing kiss.

 

It's different than before. When he's all the way inside and her pelvis is flush with his, Carol pauses. The kiss slows down until it's just their lips brushing softly against each other. She pulls away then, nudging her nose against his and there's a shy hint of a smile ghosting over his lips that makes her heart skip a beat.

 

This feels like... more. Like something she wants to cherish, like something she needs in her life now that she's had a taste.

 

Still, she's not quite sure what to do. Experimentally, she rocks her hips, and it feels so good that she cries out in surprise. Burrowing her head in the crook of his neck, she does it again and again and again. Her breathing is just as ragged as his, one hand clutching the sheets and the other having somehow found his. Their fingers are entwined, squeezing with each rock of her hips and each jolt of pleasure.

 

"Daryl," she whimpers, urging him on with a kiss to his pulse point and then he tentatively thrusts up into her. She gasps, feeling the tight coil ready to snap. "Fuck!"

 

Her breasts are pressed against his chest, nipples dragging along his skin each time one of his thrusts sends her jolting forward.

 

They find a clumsy rhythm after that, her hips grinding down with his upwards thrusts, slow and deep, unhurried. The angle is perfect, and she wonders if maybe she can actually come like this, just from the pressure of him inside of her.

 

She's almost sure that she can, her skin beginning to tingle all over. But there's no time to find out, Daryl's thrusts growing faster and harder and more erratic and then he's groaning her name, shoving a hand between them and rubbing over her without warning.

 

It sends her over the edge in a heartbeat, her muscles clenching around him. It's too much for him to take and he grabs her hips, pulling her onto himself once, twice, three times before he swells and pulses inside of her - the waves of her own release not yet over.

 

They rock against each other for a little while longer, small aftershocks jolting through their system before eventually, Carol lifts her hips and moves away from him. Not far, though. Still close enough to kiss him, smiling against his lips.

 

 

He disappears into the bathroom after, but when he returns – all disheveled hair and hazy eyes - she pulls the cover up for him to join her.

 

For a moment, he lingers in the door frame, naked as the day he was born. But then he hurries over and slips into bed by her side, rigid and tense for a moment until she hesitantly reaches for his hand and curls into his side.

 

This is all uncharted territory, and every move she makes costs her a great deal of courage.

 

He doesn't move an inch. Just stares up at the dark ceiling. "is this okay?" she whispers, watching his furrowed brows and creased forehead. Clearly, he's pondering her question.

 

She's about to pull away and leave him be when he replies. "Yeah," he murmurs, curling his arm around her and pulling her closer. Her head rests against his chest, her leg hitched over his.

 

He's warm and surprisingly soft against her. This closeness is something she has craved for so long, and her heart thunders erratically in her chest because this is real and feels so good.

 

Calloused fingers trace the ridges of her spine, making her shiver. Like a lullaby, the tender touch soothes her into sleep.

 

She only stirs when Daryl speaks again, low and with a hint of fear - like the words have lingered on his tongue for a while.

 

"So," he murmurs, clearing his throat. "This- what happens now?"

 

There's a great deal of insecurities tainting his words, and all of them hit close to home. It's a loaded question, one she's not quite ready to answer. Just going on a date again after all this time had been nerve-wrecking - and she never expected it would lead to _this_.

 

Is this a one time thing? A mistake? Is there a future for them that resembles something like this moment, peaceful and content? A part of her mourns him already at the mere idea of this being the only time they get, but another part of her - still weak and scarred - isn't sure she's ready for more.

 

"Well," she whispers, propping up her chin on his chest and splaying her hand over his heart. Maybe taking all of this too seriously is asking too much of them both. "I have a fridge full of food, the apartment all to myself this weekend and eighteen more condoms in the box. How about you stay and we see what happens then?"

 

His eyes grow wide as saucers and for a moment he stares at her in utter disbelief. But when she breaks out into a hearty laughter, he joins in - less enthusiastic but just as genuine.

 

She's breathless by the time she leans up to press her lips to his, silencing them both. It's a sloppy kiss, the kind that is difficult to maintain because they both smile so wide and gasp with laughter.

 

When she pulls away again, Daryl's hand cradles her head, holds her close. His eyes are soft, happy.

 

"All right."

 


End file.
